


The Dohaertros and The Mīsio

by indi_indecisive



Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014), TTGOT, Telltale games
Genre: Alcohol, Dancing, Drabble Collection, Drunk characters, Fluff, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Relationships, Slow Dancing, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5007430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indi_indecisive/pseuds/indi_indecisive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles involving Beskha and Asher, written in no particular sequence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dancing

Asher is used to her movements, how her body curves, the cocking of her head to adjust her vision, each twitch of muscles and the placement of her footing; he has memorized and accommodated to it all. He’s certain she has memorized his quirks too. To feel a hand grasp his and pull him close, there is a brief passage of surprise along his face but it is replaced by a smile. Soft and welcoming, he places a free hand on her hip, moving with her to the tune he had been humming.

At first she dips him, and then he dips her, it is nothing like a proper dance he was taught to follow. No, it is their dance, personalized for them, something no one can take away. He pressed against her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. For a moment he enjoys the contact, the smell of salt and sea is replaced by her, then he bites at the warm skin playfully and removes himself. He moves her again, another dip.

Then he spins her, and he thinks in this moment it is the best of his life, he has stopped humming and they dance to the music of the sea. The world spins and he loses his footing, she catches him. An arm wraps around his waist, green eyes wide as he stares upwards, lips twitch back to a smile and he relaxes; she has never let him fall. Craning his neck forwards, he lightly bumps foreheads with her, diverting her attention as he kicked out his leg. He hooks her ankle and without second thought at the ample pain, he pulls her leg out from under her.

Together they fall, he braces for the impact of the solid wood of the ship below, and the weight of the giant warrior from above; perhaps it was poor choice to do this. She lands atop him, there’s a wheeze for breath as all oxygen leaves his lungs but a shit eating grin follows promptly to counter her scowl. There is no need for words between them, he closes his eyes and gives a nudge with his knee to prompt her off; he doesn’t mind if she does or not. 

They could sleep under the stars, for all he cared, as long as they were together.


	2. Kisses

He turned to face her, fingertips gliding along damaged skin as they lay drunk in an Ironrath room, together again fighting– fighting away the cold with their bodies pressed close and a fire which cast dancing shadows on the walls. There’s little thought another could invade the privacy they’d established, an arm was moved to wrap around her waist, pressing their foreheads together in a fit of bubbled giggles.

He peppered her face with kisses, pressing first against her forehead, sun-burnt lips kept stilled against the warriors flesh. Then it’s trailed down to kiss her cheek and nose, where he stopped to breath in her scent; leather, steel, mellow spice, a precious-wood scent. He’d known her existence besides him for little over four years, and she had become just as natural to him as wielding a weapon. He moved on, a kiss applied in the crook of her neck, his eyes fluttering closed and the thought of falling asleep briefly crossed his mind.

She both stood and lied a few inches taller than he, the difference caused little strain when he bent his neck and placed a kiss above her heart. At the action her hand snaked to –perhaps– slap him, and releasing her waist he caught her, fingers coiled lightly around her wrist. Drunkenly he smiled at her, letting fingers slip to her forearm, and the space they had once held to was washed with a kiss. His lips stayed pressed against her skin; a trail of kisses leading to her knuckles, the back of her hand, her palm, until her fingertips rested against his lips. For a long moment he kept them there, lips against her fingertips.

Then he pulled them away, placing his own index and middle finger against his lips to give them a kiss; reaching down underneath the coarse blankets, he pressed the two fingers against her knee. At first the action seemed silly, flustered he giggled and again buried his face in the crook of her neck, yet he kept his fingers there for a minute longer.

Then the arm returned to her waist, eyes fluttered shut once more as comfort took hold. “Kill anyone who bothers us.” He mumbled, applying another final kiss to her neck: never would he take back this moment.


	3. Perfect, Simple: Not like us

It was his favorite story as a child, and even now the book was had a soft spot in his heart. It seemed almost everyone in Ironrath had read the book to him, even when Asher had learned to read himself. When he offered the book to Beskha with a grin plastered on his face, in his mind he might have been offering her all the gold in the world. It’s binding had aged significantly, the pages had gone yellow, but it had yet to fall apart in his hands and thus he considered it their best option.

At first Beskha had argued against the activity, he knew she couldn’t read. Asher had figured it out rather quickly and when he had she’d become extremely aggressive towards him. Perhaps she had expected him, the almighty highborn, to laugh at her lacking education. To her surprise he hadn’t, he’d done just the opposite of laughing: he started teaching her when the opportunity presented itself. 

Granted they’d never properly read a book together, maps and signs here and there. However, in Westeros in his home.

It was considerably thinner than most other books he could have chosen in Ironrath, not that he’d been searching for any particular book other than this. The book had been the first to teach him to read, it seemed right that it would be used again in this manner for her; he recalled Mira had given this to him!

They sat on his bed, Asher shifting every few moments at first in order to get comfortable besides her, leaning against Beskha and grinning. The book was splayed open in her lap and a bottle of wine rested in Asher’s lap, who needed cups? Retrieving cups required movement and Asher was more than eager to spend his time relaxing.  
No fighting, no extra movements, he’d become utterly exhausted from busying himself: honestly they both had.

Bringing the bottle to his lips he took a rather long swig before returning the bottle to his lap, resting his head against her shoulder. He read the page in silence as opposed to Beskha, who muttered the words underneath her breath and had a finger follow along the sentence. 

Occasionally her words would stop, and Asher trailed his eyes lazily to where her finger had stopped. 

“P-e-r-f-e-c-t, perfect. Like you.” He mused, fingers gripping tightly to the bottle’s neck, and raised it towards Beskha. He shifted, looking up at her for a few moments, then readjusted and rested against her shoulder again.

She’d taken the bottle, gulped down three large swigs, and rolled her eyes. “Perfect.” Beskha would say out of confirmation, tasting the words on her tongue beyond the bitter taste of wine, and dropping the bottle back to Asher’s lap. 

She continued reading with Asher waiting patiently for her to finish one page and move to the next. She turned the pages slowly, allowing herself to feel the paper beneath her fingers, process what she had read, then started on the next page.

His eyes fluttered closed, listening as Beskha began reading out loud; mumbling, anyways.

He had once memorized each word, he had lived the story as a child, and only found it necessary to open his eyes when Beskha’s muttering turned into silence.

Quickly he found the word, and smiled softly. “S-i-m-p-l-e, simple.”

“Doubt either of us are that, little brother” 

“Definitely not, big sister.”


	4. Run and Jump

He was incredibly nervous, which was strange considering he had never exactly been nervous after a fight, and nervousness never showed in this manner. Asher could not find her, the simply fact alone that she was missing in an alley tormented him to the very core, wracking his nerves to the point his hands had began to shake without his knowledge. Shaking hands clenched tightly into vaguely steady fists; nails digging deep into skin and leather, and teeth bite into his bottom lip.   
Nothing. She had simply vanished in thin air. 

It dawned on him that she could be beneath him, eyes lowered to the sandy ground and he began looking there. There was nothing beneath but dead men, and one man too injured to even think of movement without a groan being elicited betwixt bloodied lips. He raised a foot, placing it gently on the nape of the man's neck, and there was hardly a debate as he applied pressure. Eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the feeling of bone and flesh bend to his will alone, letting the sickening crunch and desperate gurgles of a dying-now-dead-man calm him down.

All the dead were men, not a single one wore anything resembling Beskha’s armor; she wasn’t apart of them. Except, she could be dead or dying somewhere else. What wounds he had accumulated were like simple scratches, her safety more important than his own. A slow process, scanning every inch of the alley as he made his way along.  
Where was she???

If he had not been considered erratic before, then it was now he had earned the title of an erratic man. Did they manage to corner her? Did they slaughter her like some rabid dog? Assumptions could be made about the eye which bore scars, he had learned the vision was bad, and no matter how strong of a fighter she was if a man had gotten lucky....His breathing no longer steady, lips parted in order to inhale large gulps of air as if it were going to be his last. 

“Asher!” 

His name is like a ship home, whipping around quickly and eyes widened upon spotting her a little ways down the alley. He’d simply been wandering in the wrong direction! She was alive, standing tall, blood splattered, and with a wicked smile on her face. The way he liked her, no; the way he loved her. “Beskha!” Her name rolled off his tongue like it provided his life, the relief that washed over his body in quick waves did little to dull his reaction. Feet slapped against the earth, he was not exactly aware he had started running until he could no longer feel solid ground beneath his heels, and he was airborne with arms outstretched for his companion.

Arms wrapping tightly around her neck, he pressed his cheek against hers; the wet feeling of cooling blood and the warmth of her living flesh more comforting than expected. She stumbled, nearly dropping them both to the ground, and neither really seemed to care about it: both had thought the other dead. “What the fucking fuck.” Underlying tones were thick with happiness and pure glee simply being near her; like a puppy. 

“Fuck you! Ah, fucking fuck you. Let’s go get drinks, you owe me.” He made no move to leave her arms, and she made no apparent move to drop him either.


End file.
